


Keep Moving Forward To Stay Alive

by Haicrescendo



Series: Carry On For You [3]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, and definitely pokémon abuse, and so much rage, and zuko is so full of love, at all counts, for a very long time, hand waving canon because fuck it, needless to say he fails, oops it’s definitely child abuse, ozai tries so hard to squeeze out zuko’s soft soft heart, some things are better and some are worse, someone come tell this child that dissociation is not a good coping mechanism, the deepest pain stems from the deepest love, tiny zuko is filled with Big Protective Feelings, uncle is gonna carry around so much guilt from this, zuko’s childhood is a series of broken hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:46:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haicrescendo/pseuds/Haicrescendo
Summary: [“Watch the tail, child.”Zuko watches the tail and cradles the baby Charmander carefully and close. It sleeps soundly like most infant pokémon and doesn’t stir even when he has to shift its position.He knows at that very instant that he would rather die than see it harmed, and the potent spike of feeling burns his throat and the space behind his eyes.Azula holds her Bagon with reluctance, uncomfortably, like she’d rather drop it to the floor.Zuko never wants to put Charmander down.]Or,Zuko’s life has never been easy and somehow, it always manages to get harder.
Series: Carry On For You [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1599013
Comments: 184
Kudos: 2572





	Keep Moving Forward To Stay Alive

**Author's Note:**

> So fun fact: all my titles are coming from songs from various Pokémon soundtracks. Points to you if you can pick out my songs!
> 
> As always, if you like this, please drop a comment and let me know, and subscribe to the series for updates! If you wanna watch me scream about fictional characters on the internet, I’m on tumblr @sword-and-stars.

* * *

  
Zuko gets his first pokémon when he’s nine years old and immediately falls in love.

It should chafe at him that he and Azula receive them at the same time but he’s too charmed and spellbound by the tiny, warm bundle of scales and baby claws and baby teeth that gets placed into his arms by Professor Shyu to even be mad about it.

“Watch the tail, child.”

Zuko watches the tail and cradles the baby Charmander carefully and close. It sleeps soundly like most infant pokémon and doesn’t stir even when he has to shift its position. 

He knows at that very instant that he would rather die than see it harmed, and the potent spike of _feeling_ burns his throat and the space behind his eyes.

Azula holds her Bagon with reluctance, uncomfortably, like she’d rather drop it to the floor.

Zuko never wants to put Charmander down.

Father says that pokémon are tools to be used and not pets, and are not to be coddled and carried and babied. Father says that pokémon, even baby ones, are to be kept in their balls unless working or needed. Father says that to be a strong trainer, it’s important to be authoritative and determined and to never, ever ask for anything, but impose your will and demand instead. Father thinks that naming your pokémon makes you weak and stupid.

Zuko tries his best, really, he does, but he just...can’t.

Druk is _tiny_ and needs him, and the idea of keeping him in a pokéball when he’s still so little hurts Zuko in his very soft heart. He doesn’t understand why he should have to order him around when he can just ask instead. He doesn’t _want_ to not care.

Zuko is incapable of not caring.

Azula, on the other hand, is very, very good at doing what Father wants.

Mama thinks that Father is wrong.

She never says so, but Zuko knows because she _knows_ that the minute Father is out of the room, Zuko has Druk in his arms. She knows and doesn’t breathe a word to Father about it. She doesn’t tell on him.

Mama doesn’t have any pokémon but maybe if she did, Father couldn’t yell at her anymore.

And then, suddenly, Cousin Lu Ten is dead in an accident and Uncle Iroh comes back shaken and a shadow of himself, and suddenly, Father is even more overbearing and angry. What little peace Zuko ever had is _gone_. He doesn’t understand what happened.

Mama gets quieter and quieter and when she puts her arms around Zuko they’re thin and spindly. He promises that he’s going to be stronger so that he can protect her, and when he says that she cries and cries and cries.

The next morning, she’s gone.

Zuko hadn’t realized until then how much Mama had protected him until she’s gone and he’s the easiest target. 

Father doesn’t ever put a hand on Azula.

(He hardly ever sees her anymore because she’s training, always training. Her Bagon has already evolved and she’s only eight years old, not even old enough for her license, but it doesn’t matter. The daughter of the regional champion is _expected_ to be exceptional. So is the son, except that Zuko is weak and sentimental and cares too much to be useful.)

Uncle Iroh can’t protect him.

Sometimes Zuko doesn’t even think he knows, and if he did, he’s not entirely sure that it would matter.

Druk learns how to escape from his pokéball.

Maybe it’s because Zuko’s will to hold him there is too weak, or maybe it’s because Zuko’s not the only one who cares too much. 

Druk hates when Father’s angry, and he hates when Zuko gets hurt. Maybe he would get hurt less if he could just be _better_ , but he does the very best he can and it’s never enough. It’s all Zuko can do sometimes, to take the hit and hold on to the furiously wiggling ball at his belt and whisper _don’t, don’t, don’t._

Father won’t stop with Zuko, and Druk is just a baby. 

Zuko doesn’t know how far he might go, but he knows that he doesn’t want to know. 

Every time without fail, the moment Father leaves the room, Zuko loses his battle to keep Druk contained. Every time without fail, he takes the comfort offered him with both hands, curls up under his blankets with Druk cuddled up under his chin, and finally lets himself shake apart.

He wonders, sometimes, how long he can take it.

He wonders, sometimes, how long it’ll be before there’s nothing left of him.

He wonders, sometimes, when bruises push down hard into his bones and not even warm little Druk can keep him from feeling cold, if he’ll even bother breaking first or if he’ll just fade away to nothing.

* * *

  
  


The worst day of Zuko’s life is three days after he turns ten.

His birthday is awkward and uncomfortable and barely acknowledged by anyone except Uncle Iroh, who takes him down to the post office to take his photo for his trainer’s license.

“This is real,” he says quietly while the photographer adjusts for the shot. “It’s not a game, Zuko.”

Zuko, numb and unable to remember what it feels like to be excited, stares into the camera. He knows pain and he knows fear and he knows rage. There’s little joy to this. He doesn’t smile, no matter how the photographer pleads. He doesn’t remember how.

“It’s never been a game, Uncle.”

The flash goes off and that’s it. 

Zuko is a pokémon trainer.

* * *

The day after his birthday, Father comes to him and informs him that he will train with Azula from now on.

Azula’s Shellgon beats Druk bloody and then Father does the same to Zuko, later. He doesn’t even have a reason, anymore. Zuko’s so used to being a disappointment that all he can think now is that Father just thinks that it’s _fun_.

* * *

  
  


“You’re weak and so is your Charmander.”

Zuko doesn’t tell Father that his name is Druk. He doesn’t dare.

Druk’s pokéball on his hip gives an insistent wiggle, and Zuko slaps a hand over it.

_Don’t_ , he thinks furiously. _Don’t._ He doesn't dare speak but he hopes his pokémon can hear it anyway. _Please don’t._ It stills and he breathes a silent sigh of relief.

He only has one thing anymore that’s important enough to protect.

Ozai keeps going and with every word he speaks, Zuko feels himself leaving his body to watch, abstractly, like his life is a movie and instead of having to live it, he can just watch from the outside. It’s a nice feeling, because he doesn’t.

Zuko’s learning, slowly, how to not feel. He knows there’s something wrong with that.

He knows, but he doesn’t remember how to _care_ about it.

Hands closing around his neck yank Zuko’s brain back into itself and he can’t help it, he cries out and squeaks and scrabbles at Father’s hands that _won’t move, oh god, he’s not letting go, oh god._

There’s a flash of light and a blur of red and a furious screech of rage and then Father lets go.

Father lets go because Druk has his jaws clenched around his hand and isn’t letting go, even when Father flings him around to get him loose, even when blood pours out where his fangs dig into skin. He only digs in harder when Father slams him against the wall, before loosening his grip.

Zuko drops to the ground and wants so badly to close his eyes that it hurts but all he can do is watch and cry.

He’s suddenly aware that he’s screaming Druk’s name.

That’s the only word he knows right now, through the fog of his own fear and terror.

_Druk, Druk, Druk._

His only friend is struggling weakly in Father’s hands now, whipping his tail frantically back and forth. Zuko sobs and stares. He overflows with feelings and misses being numb.

“You are _weak_ , Zuko, and you have weakened this creature with it.”

Reptilian blue eyes lock onto Zuko. His heart pounds in his head.

“You will learn to snuff out your weakness, and suffering will be your teacher.”

“Please!” Zuko cries and drops his head down. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything. Please don’t hurt him. Please don’t hurt him.” Zuko is not above begging. Not for Druk. “Please. I will be strong. Please don’t hurt him.”

Father goes very still. He peels Druk off his hand and holds him by the scruff of his neck. The Charmander is conscious but limp, staring back at Zuko as if silently begging himself.

Zuko’s heart shatters and more than anything, he wants to disappear.

“You would think to tell me what to do. Me.” Father’s voice is calm and still, like the eye of the hurricane. Zuko trembles.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Zuko repeats. Gold eyes stare frantically into blue, _don’t fight, don’t fight, this is the only way I know how to protect you._

“As you so demand, then.”

Zuko can’t even see it coming when Father grabs Druk’s flaming tail and wrenches it with a horrible _snap_ and presses it to the side of Zuko’s face. 

Someone screams and Zuko doesn’t know if it’s him or if it’s Druk or if he’s just imagined it, because the most terrible pain he’s ever felt blossoms through his head. He has just enough time to see Druk wriggle free from Father’s grasp and run for his life up a tree and far away, out of reach.

Leaving Zuko alone and in agony in the dirt.

But he’s safe, is all Zuko can think as he passes out.

Good.

* * *

Zuko wakes up and his head feels like it’s been cut in half. He presses a hand to his eye without thinking and nearly shrieks with pain. It’s been bandaged, at some point. 

He’s in his bed, in his bedroom. 

At first he thinks he’s alone but he’s not. Next to his bed, Uncle Iroh is sitting up in his chair. He’s asleep, but it looks restless and uneasy.

Zuko can understand that. 

With a flash of memory, Zuko fumbles for his belt, feels Druk’s ball. It’s empty.

Of course it’s empty.

Druk ran away, as he should have. Zuko doesn’t resent him for it. Outside, it’s dark. Thunder rumbles and heavy rain spatters at the windows so hard that Zuko can’t understand how Uncle can sleep through it.

Zuko might never sleep again.

A boom of thunder shakes the walls and Zuko shakes with it.

He looks to his closet. Zuko had had the idea, months ago, that he would get to go on a journey. Father has made it clear that he certainly was not, but that hadn’t stopped Zuko from packing a go bag anyway. 

A go bag that is definitely still there, stuffed in the back behind his winter coats.

Druk’s out there, somewhere. He has to stay out of the rain or he’ll risk his tail going out.

Zuko tries not to remember that crack it had made, before all the pain.

He has to get out of here.

Zuko’s got plenty of practice slipping out of bed without a sound, and he uses that experience now—Uncle doesn’t even twitch. He grabs his go bag and his rain jacket, and then freezes in his own closet. How’s he supposed to do this? Where’s he supposed to go?

Somewhere. Anywhere. 

Anywhere but here.

Leaving out the front is too risky so Zuko ends up prying open his own window and sliding through to the outside. Water slides down glass into his bedroom, too quick for Zuko to close it out.

There they stay, tiny puddles on the floor.

Zuko cannot stay and he _runs_ as fast as he can manage, out of his home and towards the forest in which he hopes to find his only friend. He hopes that Druk can forgive him for getting him hurt. 

“Druk!” He hollers through the wind as loudly as he can, “Druk!”

There’s nothing, of course. Nothing but the wind and rain and the uncomfortable squelch of pulling his shoes out of mud with every step.

Zuko calls until his voice is gone and his throat hurts. He’s almost to the edge of the forest, heading out to the coast, with no sign of Druk.

Until he sees it.

A tiny little glimmer of flame shivers under a large leaf, and Zuko makes a beeline for it. Druk is huddling underneath the leaf with his tail tucked around him and he trembles. Whether it’s from fear or from cold, Zuko doesn’t know.

Druk lifts his head, sees Zuko…

And cowers.

Zuko bursts into tears.

“No, no, no, it’s okay,” he croons through sobs. He’s trying desperately to hold himself together and _failing_ just like he fails at everything else. “Don’t be scared, Druk. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you.” He reaches out with trembling hands and bundles Druk into his arms and wrapping him up in his raincoat. His tail hangs limp, unnaturally bent a third away from the flame. 

This just makes Zuko cry harder.

Eventually, the forest clears out to beach, and Zuko scopes the shoreline. Maybe he’ll feel bad for stealing the boat, and maybe he’ll regret his choices in the end, but right now?

Zuko doesn’t have the space in him for regrets. All he knows is that everything hurts, and Druk is hurt, and that he can’t trust the pokémon center in Vulca not to rat him out to father.

He doesn’t remember crashing his little stolen rowboat into the docks of Floral Village. He doesn’t remember making a beeline for the pokémon center and crashing through the doors, scaring the daylights out of the single staff member and her Chansey. He doesn’t remember being unable to stop _crying_ as he desperately fishes Druk out of his raincoat and begs her to help him.

Zuko doesn’t remember the way her hands shook in horror when she took him away, or how she came back to find him sitting on the floor in a heap, curled up into himself.

Zuko wakes up and there’s sunshine on his face.

He’s in one of the nondescript, spare rooms set aside for traveling trainers. The bandages on his eye have been replaced because they’re clean and dry. There’s a weight on his chest.

Zuko opens his undamaged eye and stares at Druk, curled up on his chest. His flame is still weak but stronger than before, and his tail is wrapped in bandages. Zuko runs a gentle hand down his back and the Charmander jolts awake.

“Hey, baby.”

His mother’s favored endearment slips out of his mouth unthinkingly before Zuko can even consider pulling it back. He doesn’t have to. He’s not home and he can call Druk whatever he wants.

Druk gives a mournful, anxious whine and Zuko wants to start crying again.

“It’s okay,” he says. It’s not okay. “Don’t worry, I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you. It wasn’t your fault.” Druk whines again and presses his nose into the pulse point of Zuko’s throat, and Zuko nearly comes apart with the relief that at least now, Druk is not afraid of _him._

Zuko knows that he can’t go home, not until he’s strong enough to defend himself. Not until he’s strong enough to fight and _win._

* * *


End file.
